C6: Future's dawn
Iron Rock
'So the rumors are true after all. Good, at least they aren't liars.'
Thorin Ironedge stood in front of the massive gates of the former Greenskin stronghold. He could see giant humanoid structures made of stone and metal up on the walls. One of their hands held large crossbows, with bolts as large as harpoons.
A large flock of birds of prey seemed to circle the skies above.
The past month was a rather busy time for the Ironedge clan, far more than usual. The elders spent quite some time drilling him on the specifics of what was supposed to be their home. It was never an expectation that things would remain the same, hundreds of years of greenskin occupation is certain to not do any favours to the integrity of their mines. But it was important to know, for all changes and losses needs to be accounted for.
Besides, one must never blindly trust the word of an Umgi, otherworldly monarch or no. And so, the Thane was sent here to Iron Rock along with an escort of miners and longbeards. Further plans hinge on how this inspection would go.
The walls themselves were high and massive, and of brown stone. Windows were scattered around the walls in seemingly random patterns, along with holes, presumably for archers and artillery. Considering the earlier settlers, the randomness of the window placement was to be expected.
There seemed to be only one way in, and it would be a long and bloody undertaking to say the least. He had no idea what these outsiders had in regards to artillery, but even normal arrows are enough to make a siege quite dreadful for would be invaders.
Although, he severely doubted the golems above are just there to look pretty.
'And yet, considering what we'll deal with here, there is at least one more, less bloody way to get in.' Thorin thought, eyeing the towers on the walls.
The greenskin imagery of their savage gods seemed to have been destroyed, and in their place were windowed spires. Thorin could make out half a dozen humanoid figures inside.
The gates creaked open, revealing a figure in a dark blue outfit. The greaves and gauntlets were of dull yellow and had a metallic sheen. The face was covered with a mask which had a single small horn pointing forward.
There were not even eye slits. Instead, a single flap of cloth covered the face. Coincidentally, the cloth bore what looked to be an eastern letter.
Thorin stepped forward, followed by the inspection team.
"Greetings, you must be from the miner's guild in Barak Varr." The figure said in a deep masculine voice. Thorin noticed that a red band was tied on his elbow.
"That is correct." Thorin replied. He then gestured for a handshake, to which the figure accepted.
"Thorin Ironedge. Thane of the Ironedge clan."
"Red of the Hanzos."
With the introductions out of the way, they followed Red into the stronghold. There were more of the golems inside, the difference being that these didn't have the giant crossbows.
Some of them were of rock and wood while others were entirely made of metal. Upon closer look, their size became much more apparent, not too dissimilar from the ones in dawi stories of the old.
However, unlike those of the Ancestor Gods', not every golem present had runic inscriptions.
'Hence the term, "rune-enhanced" rather than just calling them "rune golems". Not exactly like our legends at all.' He thought briefly of what the elders had told him on the days leading up to this excursion.
Aside from the living structures, ranks upon ranks of tall golden knights stood motionless, their red dazzling capes flapping in the breeze. Their full-body armor shone brightly against the sun, and their faces were covered by the visors of their helmets, from which a singular horn protruded from the foreheads. They were equipped with long, ornate spears.
There were also simpler catapults placed on strategically placed elevations. Yet they were unmanned, and there seemed to be no way to place their ammunition without unneeded difficulty.
As they walked further, he noticed that the ground was scorched black. It was as if a dragon had decided to vomit fire all over the place. Now that he noticed it, all the structures had signs of having endured a substantial amount of heat.
"Did anything happen here?"
"Nothing in particular. Why do you ask?"
"The scorched earth for one, those molten looking ramparts, for another."
"Ah that. Yes, we did that. We were told by your Storm Lord that fire is used to get rid of Greenskin spores. No stone was left unturned."
"I see." The Thane nodded slightly in approval. "You people are very thorough in that case."
"Of course," the one calling himself "Red of the Hanzos" seemingly replied with a nod, his voice was the tone that spoke of a matter of fact. "We immediately did so when we received the information, can't just let those brutes spawn back, can we now?"
"And how did you manage to do such a thorough job in such a place?" He noted inquisitively. "As we know, our ancestors did not make Iron Rock to be a small place."
"We have our own way, using the power we have. Don't worry, what we use is "clean" and reliable, especially compared to the one that your kind are so distrustful of."
He silently approved, remembering what happened in their tavern. In many ways, it was simply an eye-opening experience, and they were perhaps some of the first dawi to be able to know what uncorrupted magic could look like and feel like. Such a thing was an impossibility for his kind, at least that is the rule of the one present in this world. And perhaps that made this new magic something to be truly wary of, for if they could feel the energy, what was to stop it from casually bypassing the stubborn resistance that they had always been so proud of when dealing with magic users of other races?
'Bah, I am sure our stubbornness will help us prevail regardless. Need to be more cautious around them, still.' He thought confidently, no doubt with pride, one born not without a great foundation.
He turned back, and in the utmost careful and venerable manner, he gave a bow to an old dwarven miner behind him, whose snow white beard was longer and thicker, whose visage was much older and wiser, even than him. In return, the ancient dwarf gave him a nod of approval.
And so they kept following Red, passing by many more of the heavily armored spearmen. They did not seem to pay attention, but to Thorin, their movements or the lack thereof felt…unnatural, it was as if they were hunks of armor rather than living beings.
"Why is everyone so silent and…monotonous if you don't mind me asking?"
"I believe you were referring to the golden guards, yes?" Red replied, calmly.
Thorin nodded. While he was not unfamiliar with the near unbreakable stoicness and discipline of warrior kin on duty and especially the Ironbreakers, that of these guards however were something else completely… somehow, almost as if there was some sort of eeriness to them than anything.
"We call them Master Guarders, there were also two lesser groups but more numerous. But, regardless of the differences, they are all the…immortal magical humanoid constructs founded by his majesty a long time ago in a ruin from the First World, a place where all magic is equally reliable and neutral, with only personal choice how to use it being that which matters. They were…oathbound to follow his orders ever since that day. Even for all the grander fantasticness of the world once was, they are still one of a kind."
'A place where all magic is equally reliable and neutral… That is quite a claim.' Indeed, if one from this world heard those words without knowing the context of these folks, it would have been considered nothing more than a Ancestors damned fantasy tale of a world that does not exist. Or worse, words from someone meant to be damned by the Dark Force.
Truly, the Ancestor Gods were wise. As the old tale tells, at first glance, they already found magic to be a fickle, unreliable thing, predatory even. And so, in His infinite love and wisdom that no dawi in history came afterward could, Grungni and his son Thungni introduced to their kin a way to be able to use them and use them reliably. And as far as he knew, only then, magic can be considered stable and trustworthy. Anything else could never be considered as such, especially when they are not made or refined by their own kind after all.
However, knowing how things can be different to begin with, he would begrudgingly believe it with caution… At least until he somehow found a way to prove it to be otherwise, or truly confirmed it. But even then, his Dawi instinct still told him to be cautious regardless, even if the latter happened for good reason..
"They definitely are not human, huh?"
"Indeed they are not," Red confirmed. "In a sense, they are far greater and perhaps lesser, to a degree as well. Regardless, they can do the job they are meant to do well enough."
'So… another variable of golems it seems.'
Although he was still mostly calm, his face slightly twisted into a grimace. There was so much uncertainty, variable and unknowable information that he could not confirm such a claim yet and there is simply not a clear reference to look at. In the history of his kind, there had not been a mention of smaller golems. The golems and guardians of old were all mentioned to be rather sizable, as large as trolls and ogres.
Yet, regardless of whether those claims are true or just some baseless boast, the fact that there is another line of well-armed combatants is more than one could ask for. As long as they could at least hold the line, they are to be highly regarded, even more so if they were just nearly as good as they are claimed to be. You could not expect more from life in this world after all, especially when you are in a situation like this and being so exposed to the Badlands.
And even with this addition, they would still need their own personal army, a big one and fast. The Ancestors had taught them better, it is simply very unwise to rely on others for your own primary protection, especially from non-dawi, with so many unknown variables no less.
'But still, far from umgak.' Thorin thought, his estimation of the foreign settlers increasing.
The path led to a cavernous opening guarded by two "runic" golems, flanked on each side. The inside of the cave was illuminated by globes of light that were somehow fixed on the ceiling. Here and there, there were some of the "master guarders" from outside, seemingly acting as sentries.
And the deeper they stepped inside, the more horrified and angry the prospectors and miners who came with him became.
Old, used mining equipment like shovels and carts were laid on the ground. Rusty, ill-maintained and full of dust they were, and there was no telling whether they were made by their kind or the Greenskin.
The scaffoldings made by their ancestors were still here, though not at all in one piece. Some of the walls were even finished, and withstood the ravages of time, but not the occupation of their ancient foes.
The debris of fallen sentry towers littered the ground, although such obstructions did not seem to hinder the armored patrols all that much.
Eventually, they advanced deep enough to where there were no more "ceiling lamps" beyond them. It seemed the otherworlders had yet to explore further. There were many openings in front of them, one of which seemed to be closed off by a big boulder.
"A word of advice if you do agree to our lord's offer. Do not go past that, there is absolutely nothing compatible with life there." Red said, noticing the Thane's gaze towards the blocked path. The tense emphasis was not unnoticed.
'Ah yes, they had a little run in with the thagorraki. I remember.' Thorin nodded as he also heard the slight grumble behind him, obviously unsatisfied with what they heard to say the least.
"Now then, I suppose you will need to discuss amongst yourself. Feel free to look around more, if you must. I shall return after some time." Red said.
"Hm? And where are you going?" Thorin turned around to address his guide, only to notice that the manling had vanished into thin air, as if he was never here in the first place.
'Something tells me that I'll have to get used to it.'
Despite the borderline annoying suddenness that left them without an escort, they continued to move on and checked every viable corner of the place that was their calling.
Beyond checking the internal infrastructure, they were also looking for something of great importance.
Mere stone and iron could be replaced, time, relic and history of their kin, much less of their clan own ancestors however, simply irreplaceable.
Beyond their more technical objective, they were here today to find and reclaim the remnants of old history, proof that their lineage was the first who made their presence here and built this place. Anything that belonged to the first settlers would be valuable, be it mundane or mastercraft relics. Ancestors! Even recognizable pieces of their armor or tools would still be welcome. And so they searched and searched, the sounds of digging and grunts filled the cavern.
After hours of their fervor, it seemed that even the most mundane discarded belongings or trinkets of their forefathers would have been a blessing.
In the end, it became clear that there was nothing left. Not even a scrap.
The Greenskin and perhaps even the rats have truly laid waste and despoiled it all. Just like they always do. Just like so many other parts of the great Karaz Ankor.
Finally, all of them sat down in a big room that seemed to once been made by the founder, still standing strong despite visible signs that it had severely withered to time. The atmosphere around them was heavy and dead still, and in the simmering light of their mining lanterns, exhaustion of both soul and muscle was visible on the faces and in the breath of those present.
"Your thoughts on the structure of this place, wise Ancient one and fellow kin?" Thorin began, addressing first and foremost to the old dwarf in front of him then to the others. Despite his gloom and ennui apparent, there was great reverence in his tone as it was a natural thing for a younger dawi to one of such a prestigious age and position, of their own bloodline no less.
Indeed, while Thane is some of the most respectable positions in a clan one could achieve, in actuality, he was naught but the escort and the voice to someone much older and more important than he was, the true leader of this retinue and the eldest member of their clan. As how things should be, the first to respond was a longbeard prospector named Thirak Ironedge - the last male of his generation in the clan and one of the many beardlings that made it to Barak Varr on that fateful day. In other words, he was one of the few Living Ancestors in existence, beings whose prolonged existence on this mortal world ties to great blessing from Ancestors and a mythical sense of personal purpose. For him, it was to see Ironrock reclaimed by his clan once more.
"From what I've seen, things were….acceptable above." Thirak began, his voice sounding ponderous and somewhat in awe.
"But this?" He gestured towards the surroundings, but obviously referencing that of the outside. A vein seemed to pulse on his forehead. "An absolute travesty! No kill zones, broken down walls everywhere and barely any fortifications here. At least there seems to be patrols, but it is quite obvious that they are absolutely underprepared to meet a full swarm. Not to mention how they dealt with the rats was beyond wasteful and clumsy!" He continued, disappointment etched on his face.
The others grumbled their agreement with the old miner's assessment.
"What about you younglings? What else do you have in mind about the matter?" Thirak turned to those surrounding him, continued.
"Honored Ancestor, may I be allowed to speak?" A miner, as young as a beardling, answered his call, which was replied with a gentle nod of approval. "Ancestor Thirak, from what I have seen here, there's also no telling what the grobs have done all this time. It's pure luck that this place still hasn't collapsed."
Then, following the beardling's example, another assessment was given out, and another, and another, then several more. And steadily, the whole area was filled with sound of discussion and opinion, some favorable and some not, some came with wisdom and some showed their inexperience. In the end, with but a wordlessly raised hand from Thirak, everyone immediately became silent for the ancient dawi to make his final assessment.
"Indeed, I shouldn't have expected much from non-dawi. Otherworldly or not, it is too much to hope that they would meet our standards in things like these, with such a limited time scale no less. And as expected, it is quite evident that they spent most of their time on those walls outside in time, seemingly not fully understanding the threats underneath. Or even if they did, it seemed like they could not know how to properly deal with it." Thirak concluded, his apparent outrage having cooled down completely, seemingly satisfied even.
"All in all, we're still in for a lot of work."
Pontenne
"This place looks a little different from what I remember." Said one of the adventurers.
The retinue had spent the last month traveling from Wissenburg. It was pretty much a smooth journey, with nary a bump on the way, with the exception of Black Fire Pass, if one had to be technical. Indeed, the rough, narrow routes could not be considered pleasant to say the least.
This was not to say, they were in any particular danger from hostiles there. As long as one can follow a map, they will be relatively safe. In fact, it is not uncommon to see merchant camps and other travelers along the way. They even passed through a shrine of Sigmar.
After that, they proceeded via the old dwarf road, and finally reached the first of many small confederacies in the wild lands of the Border Princes.
They passed by a stone building with a statue of a woman holding a chalice in front of it. There were some peasants hanging around, acting as caretakers and guards.
It was one of the more…modest Grail chapels of The Lady it seems.
'Heard that they were supposed to be guarded by Grail Knights. I guess finding one here would have been very unlikely.'
The smell of waste and that of the unwashed masses filled the air.
The streets were muddy, yet paved. It was also less narrow and congested than what is expected from a place of heavy Brettonian influence. The cobblestone covered ground led the way to the market district.
"You've been here before, Hubert?" Asked Erhardt.
"Yes. About a year ago. Philppe was the prince back then. Wonder who's in charge now." Hubert replied. He wore black leather armor and a longbow was strapped to his back, along with a quiver full of arrows. His head was covered by the hood of his cloak, which bore the green of Hochland.
"King Gown, according to the gate guard." Answered Roland, a mercenary with a waxed mustache. His black traveling cloak somewhat hid the dulled half-plate armor. A repeater handgun was slung across his back.
"King? How delusional. I give him a few months, maybe even a year before someone else takes over." Conrad the Witch Hunter stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
No one saw fit to refute the claim. Such is the nature of the Borderlands after all.
All around, it was business as usual in the market district, the sounds were filled with chatter and activity.
As they proceeded onwards, Erhardt felt a faint and subtle turbulence in the aethyr. With his witchsight, his eyes followed the trace of the winds to a small shop which displayed a variety of trinkets and amulets. The shopkeeper looked like a man in his fifties, his hair and beard were left long and unkept and much of it had turned gray.
Covering his slightly hunched form, his outfit was similar to that of the jade wizards of the college back home, simple robes and the like, but more ragged and even less refined in a sense. The man was holding an amulet, which Erhardt noticed to have been absorbing the aethyr.
The shopkeeper's eyes met Erhardt's. He flashed a haughty smirk, seemingly intentionally mocking him with a terribly hidden pleasure.
Erhardt frowned. He knew well about his kind, though he never had displeasure of seeing one in person.
The heretic right there is a hedge wizard.
If there's anything a vigilant and a templar would agree on, it would be the fact that heretics must be hunted down and gutted. Indeed, in the empire, magical talent is highly regulated, and self-taught outliers like these pose a threat to their surroundings.
But alas, this is not the empire. They could ignore jurisdiction of course, yet not without its own sack of problems. Problems that would doubtless slow them down or even affect their ability to succeed in their mission.
'Although, accidents do happen especially in these parts. And we are coming back here anyway.' Erhardt mused, turning his gaze away to the taverns straight ahead.
"Hubert, do you know of any nice place here to stay a day or two?"
"I know a few, though none of them are particularly nice. Even for Brettonian standards."
Erhardt sighed, he knew what he had meant. "Very well, lead the way."
'By Sigmar, I miss home already.'
Some time later, when the sun started to pass its zenith and heading toward the direction of Black Mountain, they arrived at a tavern of "modest" proportions. It looked dull and gloomy. Bricks and wooden carvings made up most of the building's outer structure. It was difficult to see through the dusty and murky windows, but the coldness from within could be felt outside.
The retinue entered the tavern through the old wooden door. The bartender was rubbing a glass with a cloth, though it was not getting any cleaner. He made no effort to acknowledge their presence.
The interior was as dull as it was on the outside. Squared, stone beams supported the upper floor. The walls were covered in cobwebs and any decoration that did hang there was now unrecognizable.
The tavern could be said to have an average number of people. Not particularly crowded, yet far from sparse. Most of them did not pay the retinue any mind, though some did. The people appeared to range from ordinary peasants to ominous and suspicious looking armed men. Whoever they were, Erhardt got the impression from their looks that they didn't look too kindly at outsiders.
"The barman hasn't changed it seems. I'll go see if we can get rooms for us, you people go on and eat." Hubert told the mage of the group.
Erhardt nodded.
The other members of the retinue occupied seats that were close to them.
The master vigilant went over to an empty seat next to a circular grey wooden table. A short time later, a serving girl with auburn hair placed a bottle, a glass cup and a plate of what seemed to be roasted chicken.
Erhardt poured himself a drink, before he could pick up the glass, a familiar voice called out to him.
"Mage." Conrad Tousche walked in and sat opposite to Erhardt.
"Yes?"
"I believe you owe an explanation." His voice was ever inquisitive and demanding, his eyes glaring like a wolf, almost as if he was looking at a heretic, or a would be heretic.
Knowing some of the more traditional Templar Witch Hunters and their tendencies, Erhardt felt like his existence would fit either of those criteria. It was definitely not unreasonable, for he personally knew full well just how fickle human mages can be, even the trained ones. Yet as understandable as it was, it would regardless make working with each other more difficult in this mission if things were left unsolved for the time being.
And so, keeping a more neutral face, slightly concerned and attentive even, he replied, calmly.
"Pertaining to what exactly?"
"This mission," he snarled, almost as if accusing him. "or expedition or whatever you people tell yourselves to explain your delusions."
"Like I told you, there is nothing to say other than what I have already revealed."
"Oh yes! You were so transparent and detailed back in the temple."
Erhardt frowned at the templar's scathing sarcasm.
"An incursion might happen? Where we're now and more so where we are headed, that is merely dienstag." The Witch Hunter continued, barely containing his rage so as to not commit to full fledged shout.
'He does make a good point. Why send us in to investigate this particular, supposed "incursion"? The Badlands are known for such incidents. Potentially more so for undead-related incursion in a place like South of Badlands, where is said to exist the ruins of what was supposed to be the fable ancient necromantic kingdom of those Strygany. Not to mention, sending a Templar Witch Hunter and a Master Vigilant with each other! Something is terribly amiss here…' Erhardt thought, putting his hands together at the mouth level, fingers interlocked.
"You may be right." He nodded admittedly, but then proceeded to shake his head.
"Yet, that is all the information I'm authorized to reveal."
"Heh, right. You mean that is all the information the college decided to tell you."
Erhardt's teeth clenched behind tightly closed lips. Speechless but not too surprised, he did not deny the accusation and let his silence speak for itself.
'I'll have to talk to the magisters once I get back, I think they are hiding quite a lot.'
"Very well." Conrad said after emptying the contents of the glass cup into his mouth.
He then stood up, leaned over and grabbed Erhardt by the collar. "Know that your college antics will not last forever. Mark your days for they are numbered." The templar whispered in his ear before forcefully letting go. He then took the bottle and went upstairs.
Bretonnian drinks are either the most sophisticated and have the most scintillating of flavors, which one could anticipate by their captivating fragrance, or they are often characterized by the term: "backwater swill."
Judging by the templar's breath, the booze here was of the latter variety. Either due to his bad breath or those words or something in between, he could not help but to feel like it was even more sour than how it was supposed to be.
He straightened his collar and leaned back in his seat. 'What was that all about?'
In a sense, he could partially theorize what Conrad meant and where he came from, beyond just being purely a Templar Witch Hunter. And to be honest, he would not be surprised if that was true.
It is common knowledge that most mages do not involve too much into politics. At most, they just help noble patrons with their own dealings from time to time and crucial matters related to the existence of mankind and the Empire. Yet, it does not mean they are completely deaf to political intel and information, more so to rumors. Especially for a man of position like himself.
From what he heard, there have been tellings about the increasing influence among the Court as well as the populace of the grandson of the late Emperor Leopold - Dieter of House Unfähiger. Normally such a thing would not really be worrisome or bothersome for that matter. It is a normal occurrence, some sort more or less a matter of fact that was as old as the Empire itself, that the relatives of a major nobles, much less a male came from a recent Emperor, to have their own share of grandiose in any sense.
What was so bothersome about him, however, was the rumors surrounding his tendencies and the potential extent of his stand on matters. Character wise, from what they rumored, Dieter was a callous if not cruel and selfish noble, whose priority to fulfill his own desire was utmost, whose vanity was absurd even among his peers. Despite it all, he still gathered more and more supporters as time went by.
It is quite obvious that he did so through many methods. He had heard about accusations of him using "morally dubious" methods from numerous more or less reliable, albeit secondary, insider sources. That, he certainly could not be certain of, but definitely within the realm of possibility, it is not unheard of for the nobles to do something like that after all. What he could truly confirm however was his staunch and rather charismatic avocation through words and actions for a restriction of magic usage, and "a return to the way that Sigmar and the late Emperor Magnus the Pious truly intended" as Dieter called it himself. Whether it was sincere for the sake of faith or not, it has definitely drawn a lot of Sigmarite followers to his side, many nobles included, and no doubt, a rather dangerous situation for him, his people and the Empire should things go too far.
Worse still, it has also been quite an unspoken tradition for descendants of recent emperors to run for the office once the current Emperor ends his reign, with a rather high chance of success even. Just imagining the prospect of such a man becoming the Emperor made Erhardt's heart shrink. Its beats became faster. His hand was slightly shaking. Sweat started running down his slightly wrinkled forehead. And in his mind, he could see unclear gleams of what was to come suddenly appeared in the corner of his mind.
In an almost instinctual reaction, as if this was something thoughts of paranoia and the Ruinous Powers is forcing into his mind, he knocked down the wine in his glass with a big gulp of a parched man. A putridly sour taste of poorly fermented grapes washed over his dry tongue and throat like an unstoppable tsunami, making him cough some out. It was far worse than he expected, something of an extremely low quality, and no doubt worse than some of the more poorly made stuff back in the Empire.
Truly, he did not know what made it to be like this, he swore that he had ordered a more somewhat recognizable name. Yet, whether it was already like this from the start or the influence of his mood or something more external, it did not matter anymore. He was still perfectly fine and despite its underwhelming flavor, the liquid snapped him out from those potentially abominable thoughts before something worse started manifesting itself one way or another.
Yet, fragments of that thought still lingered on, but more or less a weak dying echoe than anything, something only meant to annoy him. To that, he shot back at it with as much self-assurance as he could get.
'Good thing that the current Emperor is still very much capable and healthy, with no one really having serious animosity toward him in-sight. Sigmar forbade Dieter to become the next Emperor.' He replied to that thought, perfectly calmed down. 'If that somehow happened however, I am certain I would have found a way to evade the situation by then.'
With his mind finally at peace, a breath of air was exhaled from his nostrils and a small but grateful prayer to Sigmar escaped his lips, he picked up his personal pair of utensils and dug them into one of the chicken legs in front of him. 'Still, no matter, that is a problem for another day,' he thought, proceeding to take a bite, his face relaxed, genuinely pleased.
'Hm. At least the food is decent.'
….
Night fell on the streets of the small town, the daylight slithering away, relinquishing its control over the land to the shadows.
Most of the shops were closed, yet some remained open along with taverns and saloons. The lights and sounds inside were a dead giveaway of activity.
One of these shops was the object of Erhardt's interest. In the market district, surrounded by an alleyway, it stood adjacent to the public square.
Erhardt casually walked over to it, no one seemed to have batted him an eye. It seemed the time of day was considered normal to still be active. Besides, he was hardly the only one out here.
Peasants still wandered about, engaged in work or simply looking to simply kill some time. A handful of armed men could also be seen acting as patrols.
The mage stood in front of the stall. The man in front of him flashed a toothy grin. He was the same heretic he saw yesterday.
In his line of work, Erhardt had noticed a particular phenomenon: suspicious individuals usually possessed information about other suspicious activities. As such, he had a practice of using the occasional story tellers or bards who seemed to possess heretical knowledge that could be considered "small time" to find legitimate necromancers and truly dangerous cultists.
The others had their tasks to get intel, while he had his. And who better to interrogate than an old, strange heretic in a place of constant changes?
"Greetings, quite surprising to see you here." The hedge wizard said in a seemingly friendly tone.
"I'll make this quick." Erhardt began, looking straight at the shopkeeper's eyes.
"I have no inclination to spend any more time than is required. I need you to clarify some things for me." Erhardt snapped. His hostility was thinly veiled under a curtain of urgency and professionalism.
"Of course. How may I be of assistance to the Imperial College?" The heretic replied, unbothered.
"..."
"Don't act surprised, I knew you're one of them the moment I saw you yesterday." The hedge wizard said, the earlier mirth and friendliness, replaced by pure contempt and hatred, something he believed to be even more personal than those he had met.
'I wasn't that obvious now, was I? Yet you still make no attempt to escape. Curious..'
"Tsk. Fine. I just want to know if anything strange has happened here."
"No. All is as it should be." He said without hesitation, not even taking a moment to think.
"Are you sure? I Heard you have a new ruler now."
"That is true. But I would hardly call it strange. You do know where we are, right?"
"Good point." Erhardt conceded. "Although, one of your kind being this cocky and open like this should constitute as strange, don't you think?"
"Maybe so."
Ehardt waited for an explanation. He frowned when none came.
"I'd appreciate it if you were a little more cooperative." Erhardt said, unclasping one of the leather straps of his pistol holster. "As you said, you do know where you're at, right?" The master vigilant inquired darkly.
The air around them seemed to have gotten heavier. A mild and barely perceivable yellow glow emanated from the middle aged man who had his brows furrowed.
"I know exactly where I am."
"Oy Sidek! Is this man bothering ya?" A voice called suddenly behind Ehardt. In an immediate reaction, he turned around and looked toward the source of the sound. From his calm gaze, at the entrance, he could see the silhouette of seemingly a group of six men or more, all armed and clad in brigandine and chainmail. Under the dim shade of candle light where they were standing, their gears did not give out the shine of the new or something that was given the care it needed, but rather they were something that had been worn out by rust, dirt and time, unmaintained. Despite that, they were still very practically functional.
'How did a bunch of peasants sneak up on me? Wait..don't tell me..'
He and his own retinue had seen this situation many times before. As much as he hated to admit it, hedge mages tend to have great influence on the community around them. College trained mages are rare, rarer than even knights and proper engineers, and their training requires great time and effort and much luck. Yet even then, not all of them are "up to standard" in the long run. For that, the price to hire a legit wizard was not something most of the populace could pay for, even if it was for a simple sortie.
And so, many common people looked toward cheaper, local, "traditional" and religiously dubious alternatives.
Why wouldn't they? How would they get treatment for their ailment when there is no follower of Shallya or an affordable physician around? Where would they get affordable albeit risky potions or unreliable charm but potentially help ease the eternally dangerous world around them? Who is going to help deal against the regional trouble where there are no dependable troops around?
In the end, it is always the local Hedge Wizard, and no one else.
Calmly casting his eyes around, considering his situation at hand, although heavily outnumbered, he could already see several ways to deal with it in his mind, or at least, evade it unscathed. After all, he was not picked to be a Master Vigilant for no reason. Yet, doing so would no doubt create a very problematic scenario afterward, one no doubt severely endangering him, his group and definitely for this whole operation that he was partially responsible for.
In the end, like most things, despite the numerority of potential solutions, there is only one that is actually fitting and optimal.
In a steady and careful movement that showed neither unpreparedness nor hostility, he drew his hand back from the pistol's grip and relaxed on the side. A smug expression formed from the hedge wizard's lip, he then slightly jerked his head upward and the crowd dispersed into the darkness. Despite that, he could still feel that they were still around, watching, waiting for a moment of him slipping off.
"But surely," He still urgently insisted, his two palms pressed on the table in front of him, eyes staring with temperament. "Are you truly, absolutely certain that there is no oddity recently in the surrounding area?"
"Why are you so insistent on that, Asur slave? You got told by your knife eared masters about something is going on here?" Replied the hedge mage, scorn returned to his voice and his face writhe with utter annoyance. "If there was, I would have already known by now and dealt with it or would have sent my men to ask for help, even from your kind perhaps."
"After all," he continued, contemptly, his head slightly shaking, but the old seemingly tired eyes focused on Erhardt unwaveringly. "Unlike what the Elves and your cults wanted you to believe, there are huge differences between the damned Witches and us Hedgefolks. Unlike them, we abhor the Dark Power and its practitioners as much as you do, if not far more. And I have my people to take care of, can't let those wretches grow in strength, do I now? With a reasonable price, of course, I have daily life to live too."
'That is what they always said...' Erhardt thought to himself, eyes remained on the hedge ahead as he remembered previous cases like this before stearing himself back to the matter at hand. 'Regardless, although I am not a practitioner of Hysh, I am quite certain he does not seem to be lying. Yet, that does not mean he can't be wrong like he is seemingly claiming to be. Even properly trained mages are wrong time and time again. Further investigation around this area still needed so it seems. Last thing any sane human soul would want to go to is deep into the Badlands.'
Erhardt sighed. It seemed useless to spend any more time here. He turned around to leave.
"Wait." The hedge wizard said.
Erhardt turned around expectantly. A change of heart perhaps? Or maybe something he just remembered?
"Can I interest you to purchase a lucky charm? Something tells me you Empire folk will need it soon… This area is full of trouble after all."
Grudges are dangerous for a man of Erhardt's profession. But perhaps this time, it might be alright to make an exception.
'All in good time.' He thought as he made his way back to the tavern.
…
The following days were spent sleuthing around the town, from small exchanges with merchants as well as drunk talks, it was surprising how much one could learn. The Hochlander named Hubert was the most enlightening here, owing to his familiarity of this place as well as the fact there still existed some of his acquaintances here.
The other mercenaries, however, were mostly relegated to guard duty, but they too were able to discern quite a bit from merely drinking with their peers in this place. When not at odds with each other, mercenaries tend to be quite amiable to each other, for it is common knowledge that opportunities tend to show up in the strangest of places.
The adventurers from The League were also in their element. As explorers, they certainly had their ways of charming intel from merchants and such.
Finally, that left Erhardt and Conrad.
Last night's embarrassment of an interrogation was not quite a failure as one might assume. Indeed, the heretic inadvertently revealed much of how this place works, which helped in his observations of this town, including the fact that the wandering patrols had gotten quite wary of him. And so he did what he was always good at: observe, bribe and listen out of sight.
But above all, he employed his order's most valuable gift as well as the most dangerous of curses: foresight born from Azyr. They were cypric, but clear enough to clue him on the party's next course of action..
As for Conrad, he was not seen at all, strangely enough. And while any mage would breathe a sigh of relief, Erhardt would rather he still be in one piece, for the cult would not take too kindly to say the least. But the possibility of his demise is a rather paltry one, for the man is not a mere apprentice, but a full fledged veteran templar.
On the third day at around mid-morning, the retinue gathered at a round table in the tavern of their residence. The day was busy enough for the place to be relatively quiet and private. Here and there were still customers, but they were not near enough to hear their talk.
"Now then, what have you learned?" Erhardt opened up.
"Nothing we don't already know…except rumors about this Ainz character."
"Phillipe's replacement? What about him?"
"Folks say he came from the south. Also, he is apparently a powerful mage who commands fear, fire and the heavens themselves with quite an army by his side as well." Said Hubert, the former huntsman. His tone did not indicate his feelings on the topic.
"I have heard the same from my sources as well." An adventurer added.
'Fear, fire and heaven… That does not sound right… at all.' Erhardt nervously thought to himself, finding such words to be worrisome. 'No normal human mage is meant to use more than one lore. And I doubt any Asur or their dark cousin would want to do anything related to this Sigmar damn land. And that hedge mage seemed to be capable and hate Chaos more than enough to not have a servant of Chaos as a ruler. Perhaps, this Gown fellow was aided by magical items and artifacts. Yes, very possible, but still, quite an exception by itself.'
"South of here is the badlands. I thought only dwarves and greenskins live there, to choose their turf as a starting point requires quite a…unique line of thinking to say the least."
"Unless you take the stories about those damn Strygani to heart." Hubert sarcastically replied, hints of a holded laughter could be sensed under his breath.
"And also in the words of those same heathens, their so-called empire was crushed by the freakin Greenskin. And somehow, one day, their presumably long gone benevolent blood-sucking "gods" will come back and deliver them from their current misery. Bah! As if Sigmar will allow that to happen."
"Still," Roland piqued in. "It is not impossible if we take the claim of his force and magic at face value. As absurd as it might sound, from what I heard, that army is composed of golems."
"Yeah, I found that part really hard to believe so I scratched it off." Hubert defended his words nervously, yet at the same time, confidently.
"Golems!?" Erhardt immediately shot his gaze toward Roland, his voice was as thunderously and shocked as they were strict and commanding. "Are they absolutely certain of what they were talking about?"
Although Erhardt's school of magic theoretically was not one that would mean to create a golem or focus on studying that kind of magical constructs, those things were always so fascinating, and more so their theoretical applications for everyday and military purposes. They were not something to mess with and always something so very special as well.
From what he heard, despite their near mythical mastery of magic, the elves had never officially created one for some reason, meanwhile, the dwarves were said to be once able to, but those days were long gone. There were also vague, wild tales about slumbering legions of awe-inspiring carved stone constructs in the fable land east to Araby, fashioned to the preference of culture and heathen religion belonging to the mythical thriving Nehekharan empire that once existed there.
Regardless, in modern times, they are a rare sight to behold to say the least. In fact, at least most people would spend their whole life believing such things only exist in myth and fantastical stories. Yet… Here they were now, in some mystical way, some nobody "king" managed to get more than one of them, and perfectly control them even.
"Well, I… I…"
Before he could speak another word, came a familiar loud and gruff voice behind Hubert, saving Roland from this awkward situation he found himself in.
"If you are talking about the new ruler of this place. First thing first, he is a mage alright, whether a hedge or a trained one is currently still uncertain."
"Conrad! Where have you been?" Erhardt asked, partly relieved.
"Doing my job." The templar said dryly. His eyes looked bloodshot, and his voice hinted at exhaustion.
Before anyone could ask for an explanation, he continued, "Phillipe tried to take over a fort near the Howling River, but it did not go as well as he'd hoped."
There were mutterings of understanding within the retinue, seemingly getting the unsaid implication, for no one asked what happened to the "illustrious" prince.
"He is not without wealth too, those mercs we saw the other day were quite frankly, overpaid to stay here." Said one of the mercenary knights within the party, his voice deep and heavy. The Nordlander was a big hunk of muscle, and would have towered above most men. An eye patch covered his missing left eye, and his unkempt black beard gave him a rather intimidating presence.
"What do you mean by overpaid, herr Wolfram?" Conrad asked, his tone indicating surprise.
"Usually, men of our trade don't get paid much for merely dilly dallying here, with what this Ainz is paying, you would think he is trying to conquer like all the other princes here. But no, they're just a glorified city watch." The knight casually replied, gulping the tea in front of him.
"Have any of you actually seen Gown or these…golems? It's possible that he is merely a good propagandist." Erhardt suddenly spoke, his gaze shifting to the seated Templar.
"No, but there were survivors from Phillipe's folly. I don't see any reason not to believe them." Conrad replied, reclining on his seat.
Erhardt nodded, resisting the urge to massage his temples. "While the new prince and his antics are indeed intriguing and probably out of the ordinary, we can't stay here anymore, and I already know where to go next. We leave at nightfall to the south…" He said, unfinished but still able to put on a facade of confidence and certainty, for he knew magical foresight may not be the most trusting of sources.
Everyone around looked at him wide-eyed, surprised.
"To the South? Deep into the Badlands!? Even a Dwarven army would have problems with such an ordeal. Much less us!" Conrad harshly protested, his stiff fist clashed against the soddy looking table. "I am pretty sure the so-called Wind of magic of yours has warped your mind and started to have you spewing madness."
"No, not that far." Erhardt replied, his voice irritated, he tried to keep up a facade of calmness but people could notice a very visible tension on his face. For him, in many ways, Conrad seemed to be getting more and more obnoxious by the day.
"I have not finished yet." He continued, before placing the map of the area on the table, pointing to the nearest river to the South. "Yes, we are going south, but only to our side bank of the Blood River, then if there is nothing, we will turn back immediately. Anything beyond that… It is the Greenskin's and perhaps the Dwarfs' responsibility, not ours."
"I heard that going down there is extremely risky as well." A lean mercenary, who Erhardt recalled to be named Aldo immediately spoke up, seemingly nervous even. "Sure, it is not that deep into the Badlands, or not yet Badlands depending on who you ask. But, in a sense, it is close enough to be considered dangerous."
"You seem to understand the place quite well, don't you?"
"Aye sir," He nodded, grimly. "I am a native from the proud and valiant Solland, one that now bears the name of Sudenland. Spent many years in this area and Borderland as the whole dealing against those Sigmar damned Greenskin."
He looked toward the map, his finger circling around the closest area of the World's Edge Mountains to the Howling River, opposite and quite a distance away from the town.
"And here, from what I have learnt that one time in a tavern of Barak Varr, the dwarves said that the scourge of old Solland - Gorbad Ironclaw hailed from. And although their damn warboss had fallen long ago, its army still remained and held the surrounding area till this day."
"It seems like we will avoid that area as well then," Erhardt replied, his eyes glancing at everyone, determined. "Still, we will go down there regardless, mostly near the river banks. And that is final."
"And, what do you hope to find in that blasted wasteland? I would prefer we not be led on a wild goose chase to such a place for nothing." The Nordlander named Wolfram almost snapped. To that all of the hired personnel seemed to agree.
"I would prefer the same, but I cannot reveal it to you at this time. But in the unlikely possibility that the whole trip becomes uneventful, you will still be paid in full. All of you." Erhardt replied, his tone indicating reassurance and sincerity.
"Now then, if that's all, let's get moving."
….
Several waterways feed into the eastern edge of the Borderlands into the Black Gulf, one of which is the Blood River which borders on the Badlands. There is another river slightly above it, and its three branches trickle down from the World's Edge Mountains, flowing out of the peaks on either side of Mad Dog Pass.
Few creatures live in this river, for the currents are far too swift and strong for most aquatic life. Even the sound it makes is not the normal rush of a fast river, but significantly higher and sharper.
It took some time for Erhardt to get used to the river's "howl". He gave a short prayer to Ulric, the god of winter and wolves, for dealing with a wild pack would be troublesome to say the least.
Overtime, he understood that the sounds were not from the war God's messengers, but from the rushing river. The sounds that gave it the name, the Howling River.
It had been almost two weeks since they left Pontenne, after taking a stop at a small town called Mirstadt they had advanced quite well. Currently, the retinue have crossed the bridge at Howling River, and have stepped foot on the interim between Old World and the infamous Badlands - one that up till now many human scholars still arguing which part of the world this place belongs to.
Personally, he would say it was the prior. While it may sound uncharacteristic for a man like him to be idea driven, he forbid himself to believe that the savage brutes like them now hold absolute dominion on another useful swathe of land. From what he knew, the dwarves would approve of his belief as well.
It is said that the Badlands was a desolate region of barren rock, arid plains and searing desert that stretches between the towering Worlds Edge Mountains where lie many strange rock formations that rise in twisted shapes from the barren earth. While that may be true for the rest of the Badlands, it was not so much for this place. With its geography surrounded by rivers and the sea at the West not obstructed by mountains, the ground was grassy, somewhat fertile and relatively soft, making it easy to traverse and useful for many civil purposes. The climate was also more bearable than he expected; though he could not say that his crews, and himself included, like the heat and humidity of the regional climate to say the slightest.
Their movement was relatively slow, steadier and more cautious than even on the most forest filled roads in the Empire South. Although he wished they could move faster alas, it made sense to do so.
While beastmen are a menace by themselves, anyone who has faced against greenskin before knew with certainty that they are of a whole nother level. Indeed, perhaps with the exception of some, as beastially cunning and numerous as beastmen are and as much of a scourge as they could be, their psychological ambushes would fall flat to the violent, nigh-unwaverable avalanche of green; and their number nor their strength could ever be compared to the menace that have given the land down south its name.
Tonight was a rather beautiful night. The air was cool, the sky was relatively clear. Mannslieb, the silver moon was on half crescent, the luminescence not enough to hinder the constellations of the heavenly bodies above.
The line of stars seemed to be shaped in such a way that they seemed to almost point beyond their path. It wouldn't be far-fetched to call it a compass by some capacity.
Their horses trotted in an even pace, the clip clops of their hooves being the only sound to accompany the wind and the river's howl.
As Erhardt advanced, closely followed by the retinue, the stars became distorted by drifting clouds of blue light. With serenity, the mage's mind became more calmer and contemplative.
A clouded window appeared which seemed to suck him into torrents of distorted colors in different shades of blue. Series upon series of bizarre moving images that seemed to have no rhyme or reason were presented, the contents were of entropy and randomness, each was more vague and esoteric than the previous.
After what felt like eternity, the scene changed to a one eyed male. There was a gnarly wound where his right eye was supposed to be, and parts of the right side of forehead seemed to be affected as well. Blood freely moved downwards, giving his visage a rather intimidating presence.
His knee fell down to the ground under him, exhausted, his lithe but indomitable form shrouded in plain black tunic and armored in what once seemed to be a gleaming plate, now stained with blood and dirt and punctured with wicked blades and unrecognizable sharp metal objects that were meant to be absolutely fatal for any ordinary man. His hair was pale to the point of being silvery and his cheeks were sunken like someone who was forced back to life but not as an undead. His remaining eye was cold, so terribly cold that it seemed to hold an enormous amount of bitterness and something akin to lifelessness. His breath was heavy and bathing, desperately trying to hold what was left of himself together from breaking down completely.
Then, as his anguish face turned up toward the sky, a banshee-like scream, one that bore an unbearable pain beyond all which was merely mundane and physical, was unleashed unto the heaven from the depth of his lung and his soul. So great was this chilling scream, "reality" seemed to collapse and with the force of a storm, his vision was pushed away into the darkness.
And then another, his vision laid upon a forgotten land dominated by sand. Here stood massive foreign monuments and pyramids, whose grandeur overshadowed that of the Light College by magnitudes and whose mysterious nature and history would no doubt wonder any adventurous scholar's mind.
While he could be qualified as some of those scholars, his focus was not on them. Following an urge of a light should not be, his vision looked up. There, in the sky that was a bizarre twilight, a sun primordial yet incomplete and a deep purple moon so young but so scarred struggling for supremacy. Beneath their clashing radiance, two massive forces of different outline and shape, both driven by absolute zeal and shrouded in a mysterious intertwining blinding light and shadow, one of the future never been seen and one ancient beyond measure, charged against one another in a battle of epic proportions that might shake the very world.
Before their blade could meet and a single shot was unleashed, the world abruptly changed once more, and this time, the vision was now placed in what felt like a smaller area but he could not say it was insignificant by any means. All around him was nothing but darkness and the only light there was came from the portal in front of him - of which origin was ritualistic, one constructed from such power, purity and arcane mastery that only the elves could be qualified to do. But alas, like all of its kind, what truly mattered rarely was the portal itself…
But rather what came out from it.
From the swirling portal, burst forward a silhouette, one that bore the form of a humanoid but its presence was grander than most. Blinded by the light and obscured by the surrounding darkness, his vision could not discern a clear appearance of what and who. But shining in that human shaped darkness with great clarity was a pair of ruby red eyes, whose grace were noble but fierce beyond comprehension and whose dreadfulness stunted his mind and aghast his very soul.
Staring at "him", was the gaze of a being transcendently powerful no mortal should be allowed to become by themselves. Of a being who had seen and felt things should not. Of a being who was so traumatized and so changed in such a way, no mortal should be able to endure, much less still able to hold themselves together in any stable and reasonable manner.
In that dreadful and noble gaze, pain, hatred, determination and ambition intertwined in tempestuous swirls of the mightiest of storms. So great, so overwhelming, so seemingly depthless, so horrifying, so retching and torching to the soul each and all of them were, such things could only be reserved to the scope of beings truly immortal and divine. Then, suddenly, where the otherworldly eyes were meant to be, two perfectly identical red flames busted forward, consuming them and condensed, leaving only two dots of small but eternally potent flame in two hollow pits.
Deep in the core of each of those flames, shining was a small but bright spark of solemn deep purple that meant anything but mundane.
And for reasons he could not tell, as if he was being possessed, his vision could not look away from such being, his sense could not steer away from that presence. One could say that something about it struck deep into his existence, his instinct and he was completely charmed, entranced even. In many ways, it may as well be true, for how a scholarly mind like his, one so heavily imbued by the wind of Azyr by the day, could simply refuse to leave this puzzle aside, of the questions of who, what, where, when and how that seemingly came with it unanswered.
Almost as if it was his destiny even to solve it and see it born into fruition, he instinctually continued to ponder, seemingly without a stop. The more his mind tried to grasp the being in front of him the lesser his grasp upon reality became. Eventually, for a time unmeasurable, he could not discern nor could he care whether this was just an illusion or not anymore for the only goal in his mind was this human shaped puzzle itself.
"Sir? SIR." He felt a firm hand on his shoulders.
"Wh-wha?" Erdhardt murmured, still partially in the state of extra-consciousness.
"I asked if we're lost or not. We have been off-road for quite some time." Roland said, keeping his tone neutral, yet his brows were furrowed. By his side, the Templar Witch Hunter stayed silent, eyeing him like a hungry wolf to its prey, but he bade little mind.
"Oh. Yes yes, we are on the right path, don't you worry." The mage of the Celestial order massaged his right temple. There was a nagging dull pain that seemed to be festering, likely due to the sudden exit from his clairvoyance.
"As you say, sir." The outrider replied, sounding quite unconvinced.
'That was dangerous and careless of me.'
The obvious danger of losing consciousness while on horseback aside, it was said that while foresight is a gift, it is also the true test of astromancy, for if one looks to the future, he must live with what he sees. The sights were as intriguing as they were dread inducing.
"It sure is quiet here, aren't there supposed to be greenskin hordes?" The big Nordlander asked after an hour of relative silence, though Erhardt couldn't tell who he was addressing back there.
"There is supposed to be, yes."
"You did say that this Gown fellow came from the South, no? If he truly is as powerful as they say, a couple of savage tribes shouldnt be a problem."
"That, or the folks from Barak Varr decided to pay them a visit. Whatever the case, it's ultimately convenient for us." Erhardt heard one of the adventurers say.
The party's chatter continued, but for all intents and purposes, he was unable to comprehend what they were saying. As they advanced the path, the nagging headache became very distracting, and eventually grew maddening.
So much so that he gestured to everyone to halt. He can't ignore it anymore.
"Hold on. We need to stop here." Erhardt said while dismounting his horse. His hand clutched the side of his head, and his voice sounded as if he was in pain.
"What's the matter, mage?" Asked Conrad.
"We're wide open here." Roland said.
"I know. Just do as I say, this should not take long." Erhardt replied, while sitting cross legged on the ground. His eyes started to shine with a bright blue color.
His vision turned to black and he felt the calming embrace of the Blue Wind, its cackling lightning further energizing him.
….
At the same time, in a place no one knew where beside from a select chosen few, there was a room more luxurious than that of many nobles of this mortal world, where gauzy pink chiffon veils hung from the ceiling and thick, sweet fragrance lingering about in the air. In this room, a girl with a small frame was studying what was shown through the magical mirror in front of her, one that showed her the area beyond this room. Despite her failure in the past, one that had her done the grievous of sins for one like her, she was still a creature of pride like any of her peers, for they were all made by entities deemed to be greater than gods themselves.
And for that, ever since that day, despite her lord had forgiven her, she would dedicate herself as much as she could to repent her deed until she deemed herself worthy once more.
Ever since their arrival on this world, day in and day out, she had been monitoring this mirror, care not for almost nothing else, even the beautiful voluptuous women around her, ones that she had always been playing with almost every normal day, were all ignored completely.
As much as she could be dedicated to her job, she could not deny that the past weeks had been monotonous and dull to one meant to be active like her. This was made even worse when her peers, especially the twins and the Arch-devil, had done such a good job temporarily cleaning up the regional fungal beasts, leaving her with almost nothing to do. Even that wide-mouth gorilla got to be more active than she is!
With everyone seemingly having some job to do, worst of all, it made her feel useless, just like that time.
That was until tonight at least.
When she dragged her mirror to the North, in the light of the moon, she saw the image of a group of no more than a hundred humans, ragtag but all seemingly well-armed and disciplined, heading toward her position. They were led by two men, each was on the horse and wearing a different sort of cloak, one extravagant with the white and deep blue of a bright night sky while the other was dull and its color was simple dark brown of finely made thick leather.
She found it odd truthfully. From the intel she had, no one would want to travel deep down this wasteland of savages.
Then all of the sudden, the more extravagant looking one quickly, uncharacteristically dismounted, his hand tightly grabbed his forehead as if he was in great pain as he sat down on the ground.
Interested, she immediately zoomed in on the target. And in front of her was the face of a human male, likely in his late thirties. His eyes were wide open, his eyes shone brightly with a blue color, and his form seemed to shimmer. His expression was akin to a calm, contemplative trance.
She recalled the report of the first incident and a new one from the Arch-devil on one of his new "subjects". This world's magic is casted in a very different or rather, bizarre way, and its effects are not yet easy to predict.
The girl believed that one of her smarter colleagues would call this a "volatile variable".
Adhering to her beloved lord's words and command, she could not risk them finding the tomb, for their route as well as that action of him are far too suspicious.
She immediately stood up, and changed into an attire, more appropriate for the occasion.
Tonight, the Bloody Valkyrie finally joined the hunt once more.
…
A short time later, the window of fate opened yet again, as if picking up where he had left off.
A short pale faced maiden who looked no more than 14 years of age stood in front of him. Her form was covered with a set of overly thick full plate armor of unrecognizable design and the giant dark spear or lance wielded on her hand was just as strange if not more. Her swan-like helmet with avian plumes exposed the pale face in question, upon closer look, he understood what she was.
Unnatural ruby blood red eyes and skin pale to the point of lifeless. A dead give away for a Sigmar damned vampire!
The armor looked as if it was drenched in blood, and considering her race, it might as well be. Crimson skirt-like armor covered the lower part of the body, one that, strangely enough, seemingly made purely out of the same metal as the rest of the set, and no doubt just as thick and protective as the torso.
He noticed that he and his retinue were standing on what can only be described as a crimson magic circle. Coincidentally he also noticed that they were held in place, constricted even, by bright enchanted chains.
The vision ended with an inquisitive glare from the vampire.
Erhardt's eyes shot wideopen, he felt cold sweat started dripping from his forehead. .
"We must-'' He stopped speaking, noticing the faces of the rest of the party. Their expressions ranged from panic to confusion. He also noticed that he nor the others were able to move.
Erhardt's heart sank, his mind immediately registered the familiar magic circle and chains.
'That has got to be the worst time a vision could have shown up!'
"VILE ABOMINATION! BY SIGMAR, I'LL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!" Conrad raged, desperately trying to reach for his mace.
Erhardt's attention then went to Conrad's listener.
The same bloody armor, and the same crimson eyes. Inquisitive and contemptuous, her gaze scanned him and his party, carefully, inquisitively even but it was still as if they were cockroaches that had found their way into her favorite meal.
-xxx-
AN: Quite a hard chapter to write for some reason. But I felt this was way too necessary.
Credits to the co-author as usual, Remembrancer of )/ Inquisitor of the Sorcerer King(Grand Library of Ashurbanipal discord server)/ Ainzooalgown412(on SpaceBattles) without whom this would have been a lot harder.
Thanks to The Usual Gang of Drunken Perverted Idiots from the Grand Library of Ashurbanipal discord server for the beta reading.
How come Ainz was able to see their stats in the underway? Tbh, at the time of writing that chapter I seemed to have the impression that he could use magic to see stats. In hindsight, perhaps I should have had him use an appraisal spell or something similar silently.
Why'd he use a gate scroll? Back then I thought it would feel weird if he used gate and dominate at the same time. I had him use the scroll so that the action would be..smoother? Yeah looking back, I should have just had him use gate shortly afterwards. I have to update chapter 1 anyway, so I'll make the change when I do.
